Jealousy
by Broadwaypoetess
Summary: DramaAngst, seeing as there's no bitter category The Sultana speaks with Jafar about Jasmine, religious ceremonies, and her need to escape. PG15ish for a long discussion on a ... sensitive subject.


Disclaimer: Aw, another Aladdin fic. I saw the Return of Jafar a couple weeks ago at a slumber party. (It was around midnight… don't ask.) Man, that was a bad sequel that spawned the Disney sequel craze. Though, I must admit, I actually want to see Mulan II. Oh yeah, and there's no Mulan shirts at DisneyWorld. Freaks.

Fic rated, well, a little more PG-15. Nothing too horrid, there's talk of breast-feeding and talk of a ritual female circumcision, with some crude humor directed at the Sultan. It's a bit of a Drama/Angst with some desperate romance and some off humor tossed in.

Pairing: Jafar/Jasmine's Mother (Sultana)

**Jealousy**

"You'll have to forgive the atmosphere."

"Oh, no. No, it's fine," the vizier mumbled.

"I know it may seem inappropriate…"

"No, it's… you summoned me, so I care not about where, Sultana."

In fact, he had been called to the Sultana's private chambers frequently. The constant summons began hen the Sultana first began to show signs of pregnancy and had continued months after the birth of the new Princess. The handmaidens, no longer the Sultana's confidantes were quick to gossip with the palace guards of the relationship between their mistress and the grand vizier. The Sultan, of course, was oblivious to the rumors and seemed to think more of his childish possessions and his new daughter than the state of his wife.

"Please, Jafar, we've been over this, in this environment I want titles to be placed aside. I am Fatima here. Lowly as my servants."

Jafar had removed his gaze from the marble floor at looked at the silk screen that separated them. It was an intricate piece. The finest silks and threads from the nations of the Orient, embroidered images of birds. Hand crafted by monks and presented to the Sultana from handsome ambassadors. Her first present after she became Sultana of Agrabah.

"What do the people think of me?" she sighed from the other side.

"I do not…"

She ignored him, "Jafar, have I failed them? I did not provide them with a son. It's my fault."

"I hardly think…" Jafar began, but changed mid-sentence, "… could you not have another child?"

"I am tired."

A pause.

"Do you wish for me to leave?"

"No, please don't," there was almost a pleading in her voice, "I do not grow tired of you. I am tired of… circumstances."

"Sultana?"

"Fatima!" she hissed and the baby cried, "Oh… no, Jasmine, don't…"

The infant's cry quieted to a gentle suckling noise, soon softening.

"She doesn't love me."

Fatima was met with silence. She spoke again.

"I'm weaning her off of me. She's going to Miram, Rasoul's wife. He's a fine guard and she's a dutiful maid. She's healthy, just had a son," Fatima sighed dejectedly, "Jasmine favors her."

"I'm sure you don't mean –"

"And Hamed does not know the sanctity and honor of a name!" she spat bitterly, ignoring Jafar's half-hearted protest, "Jasmine is hardly a holy name, hardly fit for a royal. Even the handmaidens have more honor in the beauty of their names."

"I'm sure he was just excited to see her, eager to name her"

"He didn't even consult me!" The Sultana breathed deeply for a moment, "I know how in their essences man and woman are different. A Sultan differs from his Sultana, but one would hope that he would discuss the singular importance of his child's name."

"It's not an awful name…"

"A name given to harlots. A false name used to sell oneself. She is higher than that."

Jafar thought in silence, waiting for her to regain her composure, "What would you have named her?"

"Aisha," she sighed.

"The youngest wife of Muhammad," he paused, "and it means… life."

"I know. It would suit her, wouldn't it?"

"It would be a better name, yes."

"And for the Aqeeqah. If only he waited. She would have been protected."

"She's fine."

"But as a precaution."

There was a silence. The Sultana moved the infant from her breast, placed her on her shoulder and rubbed her back.

"I must burp her, is there a cloth near you? Not silk or wool, just something small and soft."

Jafar looked about him a spotted a rag a handmaid left behind. It was soft enough. He looked at the screen. He certainly couldn't reach over and toss the cloth down, the height of it would require standing on a chair a risking a glance of the Sultana, the same was true if he walked around the screen.

She sighed, impatient, "I never really cared for the fineries of the East. Take the screen down."

"But –"

"Remove the screen and give me what I asked for, Jafar."

Jafar closed his eyes and clumsily moved the screen aside. He opened his eyes just enough to see her outline and cautiously held the rag out to her. She accepted it and the babe was burped, spitting up on the cloth. The Sultana wiped her mouth and held the soiled rag out for Jafar to dispose of into the laundry basket.

"Jafar."

"Yes?"

"Will you open your eyes, please, and take this?"

He slowly opened his eyes and quickly snatched the rag, disposing of it. When he turned back he saw the Sultana placing the girl in her tiny bed.

"Look at her. It's more of a decorative crate than a bed. With high walls to protect her," she paused, "High walls to protect her from everything. My mother once told me, how, at that age, I already had my first bruise. I rolled out of my wet nurse's arms and hit the arm side of the chair. I learned not to roll out. What does this little one learn? Nothing. I fear here being naïve."

"She will be educated."

"But I won't be there. I am sick, Jafar. I fear it, it's greedy to fear, isn't it? I know I should trust in Allah, and I do trust, but I fear death." She looked about her chambers, "I want life. I don't care what I have to do to achieve it. I'd leave this palace. I was never one for luxury. I like work. I like self-made satisfaction. I like the idea of something new everyday. The life of a woman beyond this place. They have challenges and there's an element of the uncertain in every day and you can pray every day with meaning. Here is so monotonous, no excitement and I am so isolated. I could use my talents elsewhere, you understand?"

"Yes."

"Don't lie, do you really think the same? That you are being wasted, but know you are–"

"Trapped?"

"Yes," Fatima sighed, "Jafar, you know me better than my husband, and not the gossiping _know_. You know my thoughts, my fears, almost even my soul. My husband knows only an image. He knows my body and the emotions I let him see. He only knows whisperings and candlelight of the screams and fire of my unrest and desire to leave this. You… you have me, not just as a confidante… oh! I am foolish, aren't I?"

"Fatima."

"Yes!" her voice changed from a sad musing to a fierce eagerness.

"It seems… so blasphemous," he began, " and though the feeling is …" a sigh was emitted, "wrong. And yet, wanted."

Fatima closed her eyes, "Dreams are sin, you know. Sometimes it's not even in sleep that I see your face and see you rule. And there is power and happiness and sons. I try to rationalize it out. I am eighteen, I should think only of Hamed, but it's a girl's fantasy that turns me to you," she laughed quietly, "I hope Jasmine's circumcision was more successful than my own… Have you ever seen… well, noticed, the actions of a girl later in life… to compare, and see what was enough?"

"I haven't attended many circumcisions of girls. I wouldn't know what was appropriate."

"My mother," Fatima gestured for it, "never discussed the… and how it should look… when enough was… appropriate. I didn't really know the dynamics before Jasmine's, I knew the reason, though."

"I never knew of it. I have no sisters. I attended my cousin's when I was fourteen. But I only remember that the hummus tasted sour. She's nine, now. I haven't seen her since. I couldn't tell you about any behavior that might have developed."

"Ah well… I think too little was removed. That's why I think of you."

"Or maybe your husband does not please you. He is so small in stature, small in idea and thought that he must be so small that his wife's thoughts turn from him!… oh no…"

Jafar's face turned a horrible red. He must have certainly spoke treason, and yet, in the back of his mind there was raucous cheering and applause. Fatima's eyes had widened in shock, but she soon relaxed and let out an unceremonious chuckle escape from her lips.

"Yes, so I suppose that is the real reason for a daughter and not a son. It may also explain his womanish fretting during Jasmine's circumcision. He shook when she cried, but she cries a lot. Babies do that. But his objections, it certainly didn't seem like they removed enough. You were there. I thought it… I don't know… just he complained too much, wanted to throw the cleric out. Thankfully you had that staff the Hindu gave you."

_(Three days before the birth, ambassadors from the region of Shastan visited, but when they heard about the news of an heir, they showered the Sultan and Sultana with gifts and thought it best to leave so the laborers of the palace could focus on their mistress. The proud and heavily scarred slave of secretly presented the vizier with a golden snake staff._

_"I have read Christian, Muslim, and Jewish scrolls. A prophet with a mighty staff from his God. But that were only wood. But his God made it turn to snake, turn rivers to blood, and part the sea. Listen, this is like the staff. Gold and ruby. You can use it to soothe your master. It is a powerful tool for a man of power. Use it well… Your land is a beautiful one.")_

Jafar had used it during the circumcision. It was almost easy. The hysterical Sultan obediently gazed into the eyes of the staff with Jafar's prompting and Jafar's slow "everything will be fine" had calmed him, much to the surprise and relief of Fatima and the servants.

"The tahneek, the shaving of her hair, and her first bath went well though. But Hamed, the fussing dolt, he ordered that her hair should never be cut again. Honestly, he whines about everything, can anyone be that impious with their religion? I fear for her, I really do. What will happen when I'm gone? I'm so scared… I am dying, Jafar."

With those words the vizier came out of his reminisce, "Dying? No, you can't be."

"Oh yes," she returned to her bed and pulled her blanket around her body, "I hope you remember, Jafar. There was a promise you made me before her birth. If she was female, you'd find a proper husband, you do remember this?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wish to add on to it. Jafar, if she cannot find a husband, you will marry her and become Sultan."

"It seems a sin against nature. For me to have – been so close to the mother."

"Jafar, think of all the other things I could ask. I could ask for you to fall into magic to help me live. The desperate woman in me wants this, but I know that is too much of a blasphemy. I want for you to protect my daughter and I wish for you to rule. Agrabah needs a strong Sultan. It does not have one now, and I feel that my daughter will be a good Sultana. So much that I almost envy her. Please, swear to me you will do this. Please, forsake my husband and listen to me."

There was no awkward silence, no horrid pause except the one thought: This was treason.

"I will, Fatima."

--Fin

* * *

Just another reminder, Agrabah is a relatively ancient (Muslim... Middle Eastern) community, so yeah… female circumcisions are probably going on. Though I think I'm a little off on the head shaving. None of the sites flat-out say that it's only for boys, but they don't seem to mention girls.

I don't approve of female circumcision or female genitalia mutilation. That's just disgusting.

Though this fic took me ages to work in backstory and description (damned things, I'm starting to just write the dialogue first when it comes to Jafar/Sultana) I'm actually enjoying this pairing. I like how I'm just forcing it to shape Jafar and why he went evil. Kinda like the Star Wars prequels but better stuff, at least most of the time.

My Aladdin fics don't all fit together, so if there's an inconsistency between this and another one-shot, it shouldn't be cause for concern on your part. I like promoting the main gists of the story. "An innocent Jafar falls in love with the lonely and bitter Sultana" and "A now power-hungry Jafar lusts over Jasmine."

Er… review please?


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